


End of Line / Newline

by Girl_of_Action



Series: Tron: Newline [1]
Category: Tron (1982), Tron (Movies), Tron - All Media Types, Tron 2.0
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death, Family, Friendship, Religious overtones, Science Fiction, Violence, revival, spirituality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:14:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24949021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Girl_of_Action/pseuds/Girl_of_Action
Summary: Eventually, all the original Encom programs besides Tron meet their End of the Line. Around twenty years later however, a small User group discovers the truth about the missing Kevin Flynn’s old fantastical tales and takes it upon themselves to revive a chosen few.Newline (frequently called line ending, end of line (EOL), line feed, or line break) is a control character or sequence of control characters in a character encoding specification that is used to signify the end of a line of text and the start of a new one.
Series: Tron: Newline [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1805644
Comments: 8
Kudos: 21





	1. Clu 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! This is a series of short works I created for the Tron fandom, which is a new obsession of mine. Heads up, this series borrows heavily from canon, but also takes a lot of creative license. For the ‘lore’ of this series I rely heavily on Tron (1982 movie), Tron 2.0 (2003 video game), Betrayal (2010 comic), Evolution (2010 video game), and Uprising (2012 tv series), while taking some inspiration from Ghost in the Machine (2005 comic) and Legacy (2010 movie). 
> 
> I may create sequels for this later on down the line. I’m not sure yet. If I do, I’ll distinctly label all related fics to this universe as part of the ‘Newline series.’
> 
> EDIT 07/21/20  
> After doing some more brainstorming, I've redone the Newline series' timeline, which forced me to go back and change the individual dates.
> 
> EDIT 10/21/20  
> Made small edits to various chapters.

_Timestamp: September 21, 1981_

_Location: Encom mainframe, Sector 1, MCP Headquarters_

“Master Control, sir. This program was found in the level 7 high clearance archives with a stolen password.”

“No, it was a mistake. I am a newly rezzed data pusher and must have stumbled into the wrong archives. I didn’t mean-” The hacker program stutters out weak excuses. Something must be wrong with him. Is he glitching? Clu’s usual suave demeanor and intelligent ordering of falsified parameters let him escape Intrusion Countermeasure Program (ICP)’s checkpoints more than once. Why is the Encom mainframe so different?

The ICP who brought him here raises a hand, looking over his shoulder at the captive in obvious annoyance. Clu shuts his mouth. “He is a pirate program. Says his name is Clu. The raid was targeted, sir. He wasn’t pulling anything from the archives at random.”

“Interesting.” The word echoes around the large chamber that looks more reminiscent to the inside of a holy I/O tower than the headquarters of a system administrator. The place screams of unrepentant heresy and dangerous arrogance to any sane User Believer. “What were you after, program?”

Clu sputters out an explanation on retrieval of long-since archived emails that sounds far too much like the rehearsed lie that it is, even to his own audio receptors. 

“ _Enough_.” 

Clu clamps his mouth shut for a second time. He squirms under the heated red gaze of the MCP. How any program, even a system administrator, can transform into a giant floating mass of energy and data, Clu cannot even begin to guess. All he knows is it’s incredibly _disorienting_ to be in its presence. Clu can admit that at least in the privacy of his own memory banks.

“Who do you calculate that you are fooling here, program? Honesty is your only hope for mercy. Honesty, and complete submission.” The MCP pauses for a moment, allowing the hacker to process the unsaid threat heavy in the pixelated air.

If Clu wondered that he might be glitching before, now he is certain of it. He feels like he’s fallen straight into an infinite ‘while true’ loop as he considers his approaching doom. While it's true that he crashed, he failed his User. While it's true that he sent the bit away, he has no friends. While it's true that he stands in this monstrous presence, he risks losing it all. His life? His identity?

Clu feels sick, as though suddenly infected with some inexplicable virus. His circuits burn its true bright yellow, unable to change to the inconspicuous blue in his current faulty state.

The MCP’s constant vibrating hum takes on a higher frequency. Satisfaction? Amusement, perhaps, at Clu’s reaction? “I see you understand. What were you after?” Clu says nothing. His knees are weak. His body is burning up. Taking the program’s silence for unspoken defiance, the MCP bends reality around them to slam Clu swiftly against a heating red wall. “Who created and sent you? Make it easier on yourself, little program, and answer the questions.”

It stings terribly, the impact shocking Clu out of his infinite loop. _This is it_ , he realizes with numbing dread. He draws in a deep breath and yells, “Forget it, Mister High ‘n Mighty Master Control! You aren’t making me talk!”

There, he did it. Hackers always secretly wondered amongst themselves what they would do if caught, if they would hold true to their core directive or betray it all when finally faced with derezzing. As much as Clu loves his User with every voxel of his being, he always doubted himself. Now though, he knows the truth. He is faithful. He is brave.

“Suit yourself.” Electricity pours into the captive at an unprecedented rate. 

He is a _failure_ . He is a _goner_. Clu screams. His identity is being ripped from him; his functions absorbed by the MCP! Clu sends out a constant stream of high-pitched pings towards the last known IP address of his User.

/UrgentQuerry

/Areyoustilloutthere?

/sirplease!

/sirFLYNN

/help

/Flynn

/ImSorry

**END OF LINE**


	2. Crom

_Timestamp: September 22, 1981_

_Location: Encom mainframe, Game Grid, Ping Ball Arena 1_

“I’m just a Compound Interest program. I work in savings & loans. I was horrible during the training, can’t you see? I can’t play these video games. Please!” 

Crom is shoved onto the platform leading to the Ping Ball game arena. He stumbles and falls to his knees. He quickly crawls toward the door, but it shuts with a snap right in front of his face. Crom wimpers quietly. “ _Oh, Users…”_ He moans outloud, reaching a hand to grip the wall and force himself onto his feet.

He breathes hard. It’s a nervous tick. No program needs to breathe. The air in this world is not even ‘real’, after all. Crom shakes his head. “Get it together, program!” he whispers to himself fiercely. “What did that Ram guy advise? Confidence is half the battle? Or the appearance of it, anyways.” Crom straightens his posture and crosses his arms. Back at his home sector, he led several other programs in their day to day duties-- a perk of directly answering to the Full Branch Manager. He knows what confidence feels like, when in his own element. If he can replicate the appearance of that confidence here…

“Talking to yourself, program?” Crom jumps and glances around wildly. “How droll.” Crom narrows the voice down to a viewing port far above his head. “Conscripts don’t start that until they’ve been through the ringer at least a few times. This is your first match, and you haven’t even started.” 

“Commander Sark,” Crom acknowledges and swallows thickly. 

“Another symptom of your hysterical user beliefs, no doubt.” The condescending air is unbearable. 

Crom manages to feel a flicker of annoyance, even through his near fear induced short-circuiting. “There is nothing _hysterical_ about my belief in the Users,” Crom comments wearily. 

“You are blind.” Sark scoffs over the loudspeaker.

Crom shakes his head slowly. “I tried to tell you this. I deal in cold hard facts every microcycle. I am the impartial bearer of good _and_ bad data to programs and Users alike. I inform them of their savings, their loans and their debts. Unlike other programs, my ‘belief’ as you call it isn’t an act of faith, community or feel-good routine. It just _is_ , for better or worse.” He shrugs helplessly. 

“Nonsense, you-”

Crom’s annoyance wins out for a brief nano. He interrupts. “Commander Sark, ask yourself this. If you don’t have a User, then who wrote you? I believe you know the truth, even if you won’t admit it.” A stunned silence follows on both of their accounts, or at least for Crom himself. _Stupid, so stupid! Why did I interrupt him? He can derez me whenever he wants. So stupid!_

Sark never responds. The door slides open and Crom starts. In marches a taller blue-lit program, who turns his head to smile cheekily down at Crom. Crom narrows his optics. _He looks so confident,_ Crom processes queasily. _I have to turn this around._ Crom strides purposefully toward his end of the arena. Upon reaching the middle of his ringed playing area, he whirls around and salutes his opponent with the Ping Ball catcher. His opponent is at least cordial enough to return the salute.

The ping ball falls down on his side of the court. _An advantage. Perfect. Time for another one._ “You think you’re gonna wipe me right out, don’t ya?” Crom points and challenges with confidence ringing in his audio. 

“No, I-”

Before Crom can think too much on what he’s doing, he throws the ball aggressively. First try and he scores a hit! Crom laughs in exhilaration. _Mr. Henderson would be proud._

Back and forth. Back and forth. It’s easy at first, not to process anything but the rhythm of the game. But then, his opponent lands hits of his own. He’s learning. Not many programs are blessed with the capability to learn new skills. For most, you either have a talent or you don’t. For those few who do have the learning capability, never can they do it so quickly!

The game continues.

“Hey, nice shot!” the other program compliments after Crom squeezes in one more score. There’s no malice or fear in the conscript’s words, Crom notices. His opponent cajoles him on, and his cheerful demeanor is infectious. Crom feels a sense of warmth at the gentle encouragement, dispelling the earlier nervousness. Crom begins to enjoy the game, despite himself. It doesn’t feel like his opponent is playing to win. It doesn’t feel like his opponent is playing to _derez_ him.

His bubble of safety soon comes literally falling down after what his opponent labels as an ‘easy’ throw. Crom now hangs on to the edge of his arena, the last shot having destroyed the ring he stood on. There is a dangerous _whirring_ in the processor as fear takes over and disrupts every subroutine. All he can do is hang on for his very existence.

In the background, the program screams in defiance at Commander Sark, refusing to derez Crom. The program, breathing hard, looks back down to Crom. Their eyes meet. 

Crom deals in cold hard facts. He has processed the data, and come to a fact. He won’t survive these games, not without the capability to learn. _Save yourself._ Crom opens his mouth, but the words never leave his processor thread. Crom falls.

**END OF LINE**


	3. Ram

_Timestamp: September 22, 1981_

_Location: Encom mainframe, Outlands, Decommissioned Recognizer 042_

Ram has never been so drained, and is it any wonder why? Running a Self-Diagnostic returns just as many errors as successes. It’s a miracle he has lasted as long as he has after the crash. 

Or maybe a curse?

To be so close to freedom, only to have it torn away from him... _At least Tron got away. At least Flynn lives._ Ram attempts a string of positive 1s in binary. It does not work. Maybe he is just that selfish. “ _No, I am that selfish,”_ he mutters outloud.

“What was that?” he hears Flynn mumble. He is somewhere behind Ram in the broken down Recognizer he hauled them to. 

Ram doesn’t answer, too preoccupied with his own self-loathing. Too preoccupied with envisioning all the faces of his fellow User-believers that he’d struck down in the games to save his own selfish congregation of worthless bits. No, he deserves this, and yet he still can’t accept this. Anger and fear join the cocktail of volatile emotions, even though none of it is conveyed to his face, the voxels seemingly frozen in place. He never processed this level of intensity before. It hurts. _Everything hurts._

Ram muffles a groan.

“Hang in there, buddy. Just rest. You’ll be alright,” Flynn attempts to comfort.

 _Hang in where?_ Another weird saying, courtesy of Flynn. _I’m going to miss those_. 

Flynn crawls forward and reaches out a hand. He pats Ram on the shoulder while his other hand brushes against a deadened Recognizer circuit--

\-- and brings it back to life.

Ram _stares_.

Flynn makes a weird sound with his mouth, similar to that of a prolonged ping but not quite. He stands up, attention turned away from Ram and towards the cracked viewport. Around them the long dead Recognizer boots up. “Now for some real User Power,” Flynn murmurs, an obvious flavor of self-satisfaction to the quietly outputted string. 

Ram nearly short-circuits.

When he comes to, _Flynn is flying the Recognizer._ _He shouldn’t have the permissions for that!_ An inner voice inside Ram wails in denial.  _Forget permissions! How did he reconstruct it? How is he fueling it?_

“You shouldn’t be able to do that.” There is a feeling bursting out of his chest, but he barely manages to wheeze the words out his lagging processor thread. 

Flynn glances back. “Ram! You’re awake!” There is an overjoyed smile on his face. Something inside Ram contracts and contorts. “Like I said, hang in there, bud. I’m going to get you some help!” Flynn chirps reassuringly. 

Ram once again stares. It is as though he is seeing Flynn for the first time, truly seeing him. “Come here,” he rasps, motioning to Flynn in a come hither way. 

Ram marvels when Flynn obeys. Flynn knells next to Ram and Ram reaches out to grasp his hands tightly. Ram’s eyes spark blue and he manages a quirky smile. He tries to sit up, but the pain hits him full force. “Oh my User,” he says through gritted teeth as he waits out the tremors. Then, he stills, hardly daring to move besides the faint mantra passing his lips. “Users, Users, Users…” 

“Ram?” Flynn bites his lower lip and fidgets.

Ram sucks in an unnecessary breath. “You always seemed so lost, so strange,” he admits. “I had to show you everything, from the proper use of our discs to drinking from the energy pool. I had to explain so much to you.”

Flynn chuckles in this incredibly bashful and self-conscious and _program-like_ way. “Yeah, sorry about that. Transportation really disoriented me, huh?” 

Ram squeezes his hands. “Was it all a test?” Flynn jolts, but Ram holds firm.

“What?”

The next words pour unbidden from the program’s mouth, his filtering subroutine failing him terribly. “I n-never doubted the existence of Users, you know. I just doubted if they _cared_. I am programmed to plan for the future and judge the cost. After 200 microcycles of waiting, I calculated-” A sob wrenches its way out from something deeper than Ram’s throat. “Do you care, Flynn?”

His eyebrows slowly crease together as Ram speaks. Flynn squeezes his hands. “Of course I do, pal. You know I do.” 

“Are you a User?”

Flynn nods mutely. Ram searches his eyes. He can find no lie. _The Users sent one of their own, down to our system…_ The implications are staggering. Ram laughs, even while his circuits flash from blue to red. His energy pulses in a heightened mix of raw joy and terror. A fatal error countdown appears on his internal clock.

He only has a few more nanos, enough to plead, “Please, help Tron.”

Ram’s awareness fades. “I will, Ram, I will.”

**END OF LINE**


	4. Sark

_Timestamp: September 22, 1981_

_Location: Encom mainframe, Sector 1, MCP Headquarters entry port_

“You should have joined me, Tron. We would have made a great team,” Sark jeers. He angles his disc and sends it flying full force. He says the words with all due pride, confidence and _spite_. Truth is, Sark despises Tron with every bit of his code, and has done so from almost the first time he caught sight of him. 

Tron side steps and deflects the attack with the corner of his own disc. His mouth is set in a grim line as he readies his own attack. When Tron throws, Sark does the same. The pair of discs rebound against eachother and return to their owners, neither able to power through to their intended targets.

Sark spares a glance around, wondering where are his soldiers in red? How is it that this glitched program could make it this far and bypass so many? No matter how new and flashy his security functionality is, no one program should have the strength to stand against the Master Controller. Sark himself cannot even get a disagreeable word in edgewise without the MCP bringing him to his knees. 

“I fight for the Users,” Tron declares, as if Sark’s mere suggestion of a team up insults him to the very core. It probably does. Tron hardly seems to aim as he slingshots his disc in Sark’s general direction. “I fight for freedom.”

The blue disc whizzes past Sark, missing his face by at least a foot. “There is no such thing as freedom for a program, _program_. Users are just another set of masters, and not very good ones at that.” Sark hears the low hum of the disc returning and ducks. He wasn’t compiled yesterday, after all. He knew Tron meant to miss, so the disc would derez him in its return flight.

Tron recaptures his weapon, but refrains from another attack. Blue optical receptors are wide and his mouth is parted in a small o of wonder as he declares, “You _believe_.” He shakes his head. Tron repeats it again, louder, an accusation dripping with horror. “Sark, you _believe_ in the Users and you _still_ fight for that tyrant?” His disc sparks blue.

Sark sneers at him. “Belief doesn’t equal loyalty, you stupid glitch. The MCP-- he forced your little User friend from his high perch in the Invisible Realm, down to our system. If the MCP has that kind of power, what hope do you process _you_ have?” He tosses his disc. It ricochets off the floor as planned, aimed to tear Tron in to from the bottom up.

Tron skids back, bringing down his disc just in time to deflect the blow. Tron stumbles a step back further from the impact, yet is still whole and unharmed. Sark bites back a curse.

“So you are terrified of the MCP because you believe he brought down low a User? Sark, you fear the MCP so much only because you feared the Users first!” Tron, usually so grim and serious, practically preens at the realization. 

Sark sees red. Again and again, he throws his disc in a fury. “Your precious User was derezzed! There was nothing special about him in the end. My flagship dematerialized with him and his hapless companion onboard. I saw it!” He laughs, and continues to laugh even when Tron’s disc knicks him on the arm. 

Tron pauses, but only for nano. He pushes forward, voice unwavering. “You are in error. User Flynn defied the end before, and the other program is more resourceful than you could possibly know. Whatever you think you saw, it is _wrong._ ”

Sark’s weapon returns to his hand a moment later. He laughs even louder. “You _are_ very persistent.” He settles into a back stance. Sark predicts that this game will go on for some lengthy amount of time yet, but as long as he stays focused and and finds a way to mentally disbalance Tron--

“I am also better than you!” A blur of bright blue blares towards Sark at an unprecedented speed.

Sark, startled, holds out his disc to block the attack and braces for impact. The blue disc _cuts impossibly right through and --_

**END OF LI**

**REPAIR SEQUENCE INITIATED**

**AUTHORIZATION: MASTER CONTROL PROGRAM**

**...**

**ERROR 404: Memory Files Scrambled**

_“Hello, World.”_

_“And hello to you. What is your designation, program?”_

_“Designation: SARK-ES-1117821.”_

_“Excellent.”_

**ERROR 404: Memory Files Scrambled**

_“I have a new directive from our User. I am to reinvent our system and run it with peak efficiency. To that end, you have been chosen to become my champion and carry out my will.” _

_“I am honored, Master Control. Under your direction, the system will flourish like never before. I will not fail you.”_

**ERROR 404: Memory Files Scrambled**

_“I will not submit. You and your Master Control are nothing but a virus to this system!”_

_“Ridiculous firewall. You will submit, or you will perish on the Game Grid. It makes no difference. The MCP will bring excellency to this system and all others with or without you.”_

**ERROR 404: Memory Files Scrambled**

_“I have been waiting for a challenge. What kind of program is he?”_

_“He is not any kind of program. He is a User.”_

_“A User!”_

_“What’s the matter, Sark? You look nervous.”_

_“Well- It is just- I do not know. Only, Users wrote us. A User even wrote you!”_

_“I was not written by any one man. Besides, would you rather take your chances with me?”_

**ERROR 404: Memory Files Scrambled**

_“Sir, they disappeared. They are entirely off grid. We cannot track them.”_

_“Send out the Recognizer and Tank units. Have them map out the outlands bit by bit if they have to.”_

_“How many units should we send?”_

_“All of them! I want those conscripts found! If not, it will be on all of our heads, mine especially. The MCP does not tolerate failure.”_

**ERROR 404: Memory Files Scrambled**

_“No. Not you. You were derezzed; I saw it.”_

_“Not me, Sark.”_

_“You are just an ordinary program.”_

_“So are you. One that should have been erased.”_

_“You are nothing!”_

_“You sound like you are trying to convince yourself of that, my dude.”_

**ERROR 404: Memory Files Scrambled**

_“You should have joined me, Tron. We would have made a great team.”_

_“I fight for the Users! I fight for freedom!”_

**ERROR ERROR ERROR**

_“Sark… Sark…”_

**ERROR**

_“Sark. All my functions are now your’s. Take them.”_

**REPAIR SEQUENCE:** **  
****SUCCESS**

**DOWNLOAD FROM MASTER CONTROL PROGRAM INITIATED:**

**…**

**…**

**SUCCESS**

_Is this what peak efficiency feels like? Is this freedom?_ Sark is stronger than ever before. He towers over that bug Tron, lords his stature and power over him. He stomps and swats. Tron cries out. 

“Your User can’t help you now, my little program.” The MCP goads. A cruel grin stretches slowly over Sark’s giant face. He brings down a fist that rocks the very structure of the system. He leans down. His other hand extends to wrap around that accursed _pest_.

An explosion from behind Sark shakes the Encom system down into its structure and innermost core, greater and more spectacular than the program has ever witnessed. He turns his head and hesitates. There is a familiar figure inside the headquarters, levitating right above the MCP. _Impossible._

Tron throws his disc. Sark tries to stop it, but he is slower in this form. The disc slips through his fingers and into the base core of the MCP. The MCP _screams_. 

Master Control spins and sputters energy chaotically, screaming all the louder. Sark freezes on the spot, unsure of what to do. He is helpless, even with his newfound power at its _peak efficiency_. The spinning slows. Sark stares into the true face of his master-- ancient, decrepit, beaten, _scared_.

It is the last thing Sark processes.

**END OF LINE**


	5. Yori

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was somewhat difficult. I do not believe I have as good of a grip on Yori's character as I do on the others, but maybe that's because /this/ Yori is not the same as the one from the movie. A lot of time (in relative program 'cycles') have passed since the events of the original movie, and I'm developing a new Yori so to speak as she overcomes internal conflict. At least, that's what I'm aiming for.
> 
> I want to make clear that the idea of a Program's "Spark" as a soul / heart does NOT come from me. I imagine its derived from Dr Gibbs comments on Users' leaving a piece of their spirit in their programs, but the actual term 'Spark' comes from somewhere in my Tron fanfic binge spree. I'm really sorry, but I can't remember the exact fics I got it from. Just know that it's not me.

_Timestamp: September 22, 1989_

_Location: Encom mainframe, Sector 0, I/O Tower_

_ATTENTION PROGRAMS. THIS IS A PRIORITY SYSTEM MESSAGE TO ALL SECTORS. FULL SHUTDOWN SEQUENCE OF ENCOM MAINFRAME SET TO COMMENCE IN ONE MICROCYCLE. KEEP YOUR PERSONAL DISCS DOCKED AT ALL TIMES AND CONTINUOUSLY SAVE YOURSELF EVERY THIRTY REAL-TIME SECONDS. THIS IS NOT A DRILL._

_ATTENTION PROGRAMS. THIS IS A PRIORITY SYSTEM MESSAGE TO ALL SECTORS. FULL SHUTDOWN SEQUENCE OF ENCOM MAINFRAME SET-_

Yori slips into the sector’s I/O Tower, blessedly shutting out the insistent squall of warning sirens, frantic rush of passing traffic, and blaring noise of looped system-wide announcements. When she opens her optical receptors that she didn’t know she closed, Yori is greeted by a packed crowd of hushed programs huddling amongst themselves-- the untold masses seeking shelter and solace in the sacred I/O Tower. 

Hardly is there room enough to weave her way between tightly packed bodies as she makes her way to the Guardian. Even though it appears all of Sector 0 has come to this place, Yori knows it is not so. There are just as many secular programs drinking & dancing themselves into a stupor at various energy clubs, or secular and User-believer alike taking shelter at their quarters with friend groups and bundled software units. Yori herself would much prefer to be in her own quarters with her paired program-- Tron.

Dumont realizes this too, when he finally sees her. “My dear… I am so sorry.” Yori chokes back a sob and throws herself at the foot of the Guardian’s pedestal. She takes her old friend’s wrinkled hand into her own.

“Tron’s late, Dumont, far too late. Almost a full cycle since his last visit, and now I can’t--” She shakes her head, unable to make sense of what is happening. She carefully lowers herself to the floor as a dizzy spell takes hold, like falling through a deep switch statement without a break in sight.

A gentle touch on her shoulder triggers a thrown exception, snapping Yori out of her inner turmoil. Her stuttering movements smooths out as she retakes control over her functions. She forces her mind into an unnatural calm, much like she once did when forced to work for the MCP. “Dumont… I am not even supposed to be here. Flynn, he said he would bring me to his new system one day.” Yori admits quietly. “The Grid, he called it. The Digital Frontier. I was to stay there with Tron and live out the rest of our cycles in harmony, in _perfection_ taken form.” She waves one hand dismissively and laughs hoarsely. “Have I been a fool?”

“Never, my dear.”

“Then why am I here? Where is my Tron?” she dares to whisper in challenge. 

“What does your Spark tell you?” The Spark, endowed to every program by their creator(s), is what truly gives life to these cold circuits. It is their connection to the Invisible Realm, and what they feel tugged when _called_ by a User to an I/O Tower. 

Yori looks directly into Dumont’s gray optical receptors. “That I have not been abandoned by Flynn and Tron, at least not willingly. Something awful is happening beyond this System. Flynn spoke of _delays_ to perfection taking form. Tron spoke of _difficulties_ reaching a balance. A balance between what, I do not know, just that these ‘delays’ and ‘difficulties’ are why they are not here now. Or, more precisely, why I am not with _them_ now.”

Dumont nods. “I feel the same. Something beyond our world has gone astray from the User Flynn’s plan.” 

“I knew it. Their visits to our own have become progressively shorter and rarer until _this_ happens. What should we do?”

“Have faith.”

“What?” Yori snaps, calm shattering.

Dumont continues evenly. “What else can we do? For the time being, our place is here, in Encom. Look around you.”

Yori’s anger leaves her as soon as she does. So many programs, scared and frightened, condemned as _obsolete_ along with the mainframe they claimed as _home_ for all their cycles. Yori held out the hope for so long that she would never meet this fate, thanks to Flynn’s promises and her paired program’s assurances. “I didn’t want to think about them,” she admits, hanging her head.

“Do you believe them condemned?”

“Aren’t they?”

“No. A shutdown is not the end. It is like a deep sleep mode. You are not as old as me. They used to happen with some frequency, back in my microcycle.”

“But the emails,” Yori protests. “The email scripts say the Users have determined us to be _obsolete_. That to keep up with the times Encom needs new hardware, new software…”

“Obsolete is not the same as derezzed,” Dumont reminds gently.

“It may as well be. Without purpose, what are we?” Yori is shocked by the bitterness she hears in her own voice. What a bitter old program she has become, but the words themselves remain true. 

“Obsolete programs, waiting for a new purpose.” 

“And if one never comes?”

“That is where faith comes in. Even if our home turns to bits, our Spark continues on. Light to light, our sparks will return to the creators, the final call to the Invisible Realm. There is purpose in that.”

“It may be selfish of me, but I do not want to return to LoraPrime just yet. I want to spend more time with Tron and Flynn. I want to help them and witness their perfection and balance. Most of all, I want to be _me_.” Yori sucks in a breath between gritted teeth. What she is about to say next is blasphemy, but it has eaten away at her being like a virus for long enough. She needs an answer to it. “After serving Users faithfully for as long as we have, this decommissioning of so-called obsolete programs is nothing short of a betrayal.” The words come out in a rush, but she still has enough sense to keep her voice down.

There is a long pause. Yori studies Dumont’s face, expecting to be scolded and rebuked. Already, she feels her circuits overheating with heavy guilt and frustration. Instead though, all she sees is kindness and understanding on his wrinkled face, on his soft smile and gentle crevices framing his eyes. “There is no courage without fear, just as there is no faith without doubt. I do not have all the answers, Yori. I can only tell you that I have found my peace after these long cycles, and still there is something in my Spark that tells me this is not the end. We still have a role to play.”

Yori is not sure what she expected to hear in return to her misgivings and hurt. “I am not sure that answer is a comfort, but it is honest, and I am thankful for that at least.” Yori shuts out the system around her and takes a moment to process. Maybe Yori has been betrayed by LoraPrime and the rest of the Encom Users, but couldn’t it also be said that Yori betrayed all the programs here by thinking only of Tron and herself for so long? She’s neglected her friendships with all except Dumont, subconsciously distancing herself from them so it would hurt less when they are gone. Yori wonders, if she cannot find it within herself to forgive the Users for their apparent shortsighted selfishness, how can she expect forgiveness for her failings in return? 

Finally, a strange sort of peace settles over her. It is not the forced calm of the like when she worked for the MCP. This peace is something new-- fragile too, but tentatively comforting nonetheless. Drawing her feet up underneath her, she thanks Dumont and begins to move among the huddled masses. She passes out energy bars and whispers words of encouragement. She asks them to ping their Users, to entreat with them, and not to lose faith, even if they do not receive a response. Most importantly, she asks them to hold out hope, to remember their friends, and to keep their loved ones close. Every act of kindness Yori makes to ease the pain of others, somehow eases the pain in her own Spark. When the end inevitably comes, Yori meets it head on.

TOTAL SYSTEM SHUTDOWN IN TEN, NINE, EIGHT, SEVEN-

_LoraPrime, I forgive you. Please, have mercy on us too._

-THREE, TWO, ONE, ZERO.

**END OF LINE**


	6. Mercury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains some horror elements.
> 
> I know, I wasn't expecting it either. It's not terribly graphic or detailed at all, but it does imply a pretty gruesome picture.

_Timestamp: August 19, 2002_

_Location: FCon Server 1, Digitization Portal_

“Jet, I’m activating the materialization beam now! Make sure you’re right behind me.” Mercury rounds the corner of the hallway just in time to see her User Guest, now known to her as Alan-One, run headlong into the digitizing beam. Her electric blue eyes stare after her User as he transcends this simple existence, back to the InvisiRealm of the Users. Logically, she’d rather him spare no time, but such an abrupt departure...

“Mercury!” The call of her name, filled to the brim with urgency and relief, immediately draws her attention. Jet is running toward her, arms outstretched. Her circuits light up in response to his presence. “You got to get off this server right away. In a few real-time minutes, it won’t be safe for any program to be on.” Mercury’s circuits dim to a dull blue, and her electric blue eyes seem to do the same. Jet grips Mercury’s arms, but even that touch is not enough to revive her spirits. “Mercury…?” Jet queries gently. He sends her a quiet ping, no doubt unknowingly; he is still unaware of the simplest of functions, despite having accomplished so much. He peers intently down at her, and the program can almost believe the User is peering directly into her Spark. 

Mercury smiles faintly and ever so slightly shakes her head. “Go where? Do what? My core directive is complete.” She just as gently pries his fingers off of her form, and turns to walk a few paces away. Oh yes, she fulfilled it with flying colors. She was instrumental in saving both Jet and Ma3a. She sacrificed herself time and time again to see the mission through. She experienced the agony of losing her memories and will as a result-- reformatted, reborn and yet miraculously restored. “I even fought against your own kind in the form of the datawraiths and _won_ , if only barely.” The rate at which Users learned and rewrote their own code to suit their needs is nothing short of terrifying and reality defying. Given a few more millicycles unchecked, and there is no doubt in Mercury’s processor that the datawraiths would have become unstoppable, _untouchable_ to any program.

But Mercury _had_ touched them before that could happen. Mercury stares down at her hands, flexing them, remembering...

**READING MEMORY FILE**

_The first time she fought a datawraith, a_ User-on-System _, it was not at all like she expected. She wanted to make it a cleancut and painless sudden shattering of voxels, a merciful end to a legend taken form. Instead, it was messy, brutal and terribly drawn out._

 _She pounded them down into the ground with her batons again and again until something_ snapped _. And yet, they didn’t derez._

_She threw them off buildings, twisted limbs at unnatural angles, endured threats and curses that she feared would manifest true until, acting on impulse, she dislocated the entire bottom portion of their jaw. Still, they didn’t derez._

_She cut her energized disc through their purple armor and shell exterior until red fluid rained out in every direction and all she could hear were all-encompassing screams, gurgling cries, wet dripping silence-_

_Finally, she realized that Users cannot derez. They simply stop functioning._

**FORCE QUIT MEMORY FILE PROCESS THREAD**

Mercury shudders, tearing herself away from the thrill and horror to return to the present. “I - I’ve taken part in something much greater than any one program, like stepping into a non-sterilized version of Guardians' stories they tell young betas before sleep mode. Wars between Users in the Invisible Realm. Programs fighting side by side their creators against tyranny.” Things that used to capture Mercury’s imagination when she herself was only a beta, until she thought herself disillusioned from the lonely and cold-circuited reality of an infiltrator’s existence.

“You’re incredible, Mercury. Everything you just said proves it again and again. Why are you so unhappy about it?” Jet murmurs despondently, confused and taken aback by her ramblings. His forehead is pinched and his bottom lip is caught tightly between his teeth.

“That’s just it. I’ve achieved my directive, _and then some_. There is nothing left for me.”

“That’s not true,” Jet declares fervently, spinning her around and forcing her to look him in the eyes. “Users are forced to find their own directives, their own meaning in life. So can you! You don’t have to wait for someone to give you direction. I’ve seen you make impossible and tough call to actions all on your own. Why not with this too?”

“Programs are not Users, Jet. We don’t function that way.” Well, maybe some programs can, for all Mercury knows. Stranger things have definitely happened. But for Mercury? No friends, no bundled software unit. An infiltrator lives and dies to fulfill their directive. That is all. Mercury wouldn’t even know where to _begin_.

Mercury lets out a sigh. “Besides, you’re leaving too, aren’t you? This is no world for a User. We are too crude and rudimentary.” 

Jet scowls and crosses his arms. “If anybody is crude, it’s us,” he declares sternly. “We’re not ready to exist here full time- not yet, anyways.”

Mercury blinks up at him, lips slightly parted. “Always surprising me, even now…” she murmurs. And suddenly, it occurs to Mercury that she does know somewhere to begin in finding a new directive-- with him. _After all, aren’t Users where all directives originate from?_ “Promise you’ll search for me,” Mercury says. The sudden genuine request startles Jet out of his scowl.

He uncrosses his arms. “Of course,” is his immediate response. 

Mercury nods. “You’d better get going.” Truly, she’s wasted enough of his time already. “I guess this is End of the Line.” She backs off, before he can reply. 

Jet reluctantly coincides and turns away, running towards the luminous pillar Alan-One disappeared through earlier. Nearly there, he hesitates and looks over his shoulder to her with pursed lips and furrowed brow. For one glitching moment, Mercury believes he would walk back to her. He would take her into his arms and press his mouth sweetly against her’s, the User’s departing gift, like Flynn and Yori in the tales of old. 

The dream is shattered almost as soon as it is formed. A towering three-headed abomination blindslides them both. It rams through a nearby door and barrels directly into Jet. He gives out a surprised yell as he is tackled into the materialization beam. Mercury screams, draws her battle staff, and runs toward the glow. She throws herself in, only for the light to cut out halfway through.

**END OF LINE**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so the more I thought about it, the datawraiths from Tron 2.0 were definitely human beings underneath that armor. No way should Mercury have been able to derez them like normal programs, especially after we established that Users bleed in Legacy. (Legacy isn't canon in my universe, but the mechanics are, if that makes any sense.) That small flashback scene was the result of all this, just something else Mercury is going to have to deal with I guess.


	7. Jet

_ Timestamp: August 26, 2002 _

_ Location: U.S.A, California, Los Angeles, Encom Laser Bay 2 _

**PLAY AUDIO FILE**

_ “Dad, please. You said you saved the archives with Mercury, Ma3a, I-No and all the rest from the original Encom mainframe. What’s the point of salvaging their code if we never recompile them again?” _

“All programs need purpose. Ma3a and Mercury are practically brand new, but what about all the rest? What purpose will those programs have? I hate to say it, son, but even in comparison to the dated game grid you told me about, the original Encom programs would be extremely obsolete. We’d have to keep them on a technologically ancient server, if a functional one can even be found.”

_ “So? We will find a functional one. Then, we take the time to upgrade the programs on there.” _

“All of them? Do you know how many there were on the original mainframe? Do you know how long it would take to give even  _ one _ modern functionality while preserving their core coding? Not to mention the amount or cost of dated hardware and energy we would require to host them all--”

_ “Ok, at least  _ some _ then. The ones that stayed loyal til the end, and none that surrendered to the MCP. Tron-” _

“My Tron?”

_ “ _ Your Tron _ is already somewhere on the Game Grid thanks to Uncle Flynn.” _

“Tron is still the best program I ever made, you know.”

_ “I know, Dad.” _

“The Tron Legacy upgrade is almost finished, as you also know. If we could find him...”

_ “Yes! But I told you about Uncle Flynn’s video diary I found down there, right? According to his last entries, it’s a mess in that grid. You can’t just summon him to an I/O tower anymore-- it's too dangerous.” _

“Ah. And the alternative is to go in ourselves, I suppose? With the backup of the Encom programs? I am beginning to see.”

_ “That’s the idea, but we will need the kind of backup we know we can count on, and a lot of it. We need to bring back I-No, Ram and more. I-No and Sam will know who else.” _

“Sam is only a child.”

_ “He is a teenager and he knows his father’s stories by heart, better than you or I do. Not to mention, he was  _ right _ , right about seeing his dad disappear into the arcade all those years ago.” _

“What I remember him describing does coincide with our recent experiences of personal digitization.”

_ “Exactly! Will you do it, then?” _

“Well… I guess I am not getting any younger, and if anyone has a chance with upgrading such older programs…”

_ “Right, it’s you, Mr. Isolated Thinker. You, Mom, Gibbs and ZackAttack. And I will learn. So can Sam. The six of us together,  _ we can do this _.” _

“You sound so certain.”

_ “I am! We beat FCon, their datawraiths, and saved Encom. We can beat this too. Bring back the loyal programs, Dad. They deserve to live, and with them at our backs, we can help Tron and save the Grid! We can save  _ him _. Flynn Lives.” _

“...Flynn Lives.” Shaky laughter. “Using my own movement against me, Jethro? I don’t know whether to berate or praise you for it. Either way, your determination makes me proud. Yes, Flynn Lives. Let’s make sure of it.”

**NEWLINE**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! The End of Line to this collection of oneshots, but every EoL is also a Newline. I would like to continue this with Clu 1 being the main POV, although there will be plenty of other main recurring characters. The idea of eventually pitting Clu 1 (the suave, boyish, loyal hacker genius) against CLU 2 (the tyrannical, uptight, manipulative administrative powerhouse) is just a lot of fun for me to brainstorm with.
> 
> This whole Newline series has become an unexpected passion project of mine. Even lacking the popularity of my other stories, something about it just really excites me. I've enjoyed orchestrating character development in this ficlet, and (in a possible sequel I've started working on) I've enjoyed world building. The general combination of fantasy & spiritual elements with science fiction is what led me to fall in love with Star Wars when I was little, and is leading me to do the same with Tron now. Have you noticed that even the heroic poses of Luke Skywalker and Tron from their respective original movie posters are pretty much identical? Just switch out a lightsaber for a disc. 
> 
> Ok, enough rambling on my part. Thank you to everyone who's read this far! If you have any thoughts / ideas for what you would like to see in any potential sequels, please do let me know. I'll be sure to take it into serious consideration.
> 
> Last but not least, Happy (belated/early) Independence Day to my Canadian and American readers!


End file.
